


Thorns, Wine and Memories

by octopus_fool



Series: The Blackberry Tales [2]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-21
Updated: 2013-06-21
Packaged: 2017-12-15 14:48:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/850781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/octopus_fool/pseuds/octopus_fool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After returning to the Shire, Bilbo gets an unexpected visitor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thorns, Wine and Memories

**Author's Note:**

> This is the sequel to [Brambles, Pies and Buttons](http://archiveofourown.org/works/828289/chapters/1573540), which you should probably read first in order for this to make sense. 
> 
> I'm still working on the prequel to that and I'm afraid it will be a while before it is ready for posting.

The moment Dís stepped over the doorstep of the smial, she was engulfed by old memories. The smell of freshly baked pie hung in the air and the last rays of sunshine fell through the round windows. Everything looked almost exactly as she remembered it: the clothes pegs, Belladonna’s dowry box and the umbrella stand.

“Do come in. There is some rhubarb pie and I’ll make tea. All things considered, it might still be a bit early for the blackberry wine. Unless you prefer...”

“No, tea will be fine for now, thank you.”

Dís followed Bilbo into the kitchen and watched as he set the kettle onto the stove and got out plates, cups and forks. 

Bilbo had changed, she could see that. His hair still reminded her of his mother, but the way he moved was much more like Bungo than she remembered. He had grown older too, of course, but there was something else as well. There seemed to be a hidden strength she had not seen in him when he was younger, nor indeed in few of the hobbits she had met, and a sadness in his eyes.

As Bilbo left to get cream from the pantry, Dís realised just how quiet the smial was.

Bilbo poured them each a cup of tea and they ate their slice of pie in silence, neither of them quite knowing where to start. Finally, Bilbo broke the silence.

“I’m sorry, I would like to be able to give you good news in this at least, but Mother died nine years ago.”

Dís nodded. She had known, known from the moment she had asked, from the moment Bilbo invited her inside instead of answering. It had been foolish to hope in the first place. Perhaps it would have been better to keep this last illusion, but the way Gandalf had urged her to visit the Shire had given her a tiny spark of hope.  
She closed her eyes briefly. The real surprise was that after everything, despite the numbness that had settled into her, there was still room for more grief.

“How did she die?” She asked quietly, meeting Bilbo’s eyes.

“She simply didn’t wake one morning. Eighty-two is fairly young for a hobbit to die, but she had been frail since the fever that took my father eight years before that.” 

“So it was a peaceful death?”

To Dís’ surprise, it was Bilbo who drew a shaky breath at that question.  
“Yes. The healer said she didn’t suffer.”

They fell into silence again for a few moments. Dís watched as Bilbo added a few lumps of sugar to his new cup of tea and kept stirring for a long time after they had already dissolved.

“She often thought about going to visit you during the last couple of years. She kept talking about going on another adventure to the Blue Mountains.” The smile on Bilbo’s face told her that he knew as well as she did that those had been idle dreams. The wild would not have treated Belladonna kindly. Still, the thought of Belladonna in one of the dwarven towns Thorin had established made her laugh.

“She would have looked so out of place in the stone halls. Out of place, but trying her best to make that space curl around her. I can just see her commanding one of the cantankerous old warriors to lead her to where she wanted to go and refusing to show even a bit of the intimidation she may have felt.”

Bilbo laughed and nodded. 

Dís looked down at the grain of the wooden table. “And I would have loved for her to meet Fíli and Kíli,” she said softly.

Two warm hands settled over hers.

“I am so, so sorry about that. They were still so young.”

Her eyes met Bilbo’s and realisation swept through her.

“You... you were the hobbit that joined them? Gandalf told me of your role, but he didn’t mention a name, he only hinted I should visit the Shire. I should have guessed....” Dís paused. “Were you... were you there?”

Bilbo shook his head. “I was separated from the company and had passed out at the other side of the battle field. Whenever I caught a glimpse of them before that, they were fighting bravely, side by side as they always were. Those who were there say that they died valiantly defending Thorin, not that that is much consolation. And they stood up to him when,” Bilbo swallowed and Dís tried to place the expression he had on his face in vain, “when he was not himself and wanted to start a war over a stupid stone.”

“Gandalf told me about that. I’m sorry for how he treated you. The gold sickness is a curse on our family, I’m afraid; not that that is any excuse. It drove my father and grandfather into madness. And Thorin too, I suppose....”

“He was himself by the end. He apologised for everything he had done and I try to remember only the good things. I was with him when the end came, holding his hand...”

And suddenly Dís recognised the look on Bilbo’s face.

“Oh Bilbo.” She got up and wrapped him in her arms.

“He really was a stubborn, block-headed son of granite as you always said he was,” Bilbo said between sobs, “not that it made me love him any less.”

Dís did not know how long they stayed that way. After a while, she realised that she was crying for the first time since she had woken up with her throat raw from sobs after finding out about the death of her sons and brother.

Finally, Bilbo pulled back with a watery smile.

“I think it’s time I get out that blackberry wine, isn’t it?”

Bilbo got the wine and two glasses and they toasted to Belladonna and Thorin, to Fíli and Kíli. They spent the remaining evening talking about those they had lost, remembering all the good things and a few of the bad. 

 

When Dís emerged from the guest bedroom the following morning, Bilbo was already frying eggs and sausages for breakfast

Dís set the table and Bilbo asked her how long she would be staying.

“Only for today. I have to leave tomorrow morning if I want to be in Bree in time to rejoin the trek of dwarrows I’m leading to Erebor. I didn’t want to travel through the Shire with what amounts to a small army.”

Bilbo laughed. “I can imagine the horrified faces! They would still be talking about it a hundred years from now.” He sobered. “What will you do once you reach Erebor?”

Dís had often wondered this herself. Duty told her to lead her people to Erebor, a place she hadn’t called home in decades and that she barely had any memories of. If her sons and her brother were still alive, she would have gladly invested all her energy into rebuilding the kingdom. If Belladonna were still alive, she might have come back to the Shire.

As it was, she would probably wait to see what Dáin had in mind for her. She knew he would want to keep her close. Any king in his position would consider it folly not to. As long as there was still a faint chance she could bear children, he would risk instability if he didn’t; any son she bore had a better claim to the throne than he did. Still, she knew Dáin would at least be courteous to her.

“There will still be much left to do before Erebor is fully rebuilt,” Dís said with a smile she did not feel. “I will help in any way I can. And Dwalin, Balin, Óin and Glóin will be there as well. I look forward to seeing them again.”

 

After breakfast, Bilbo walked with her down a path that led deeper into the hills until they came to the family graveyard. Bilbo left her then, telling her he would be back at the smial writing letters to the remaining members of the company so that she could take them with her.

Belladonna’s grave was quite different from the ones she knew were waiting for her in Erebor. A tangle of flowers in all imaginable colours grew upon it, swaying slightly in the breeze. A stele stood at one end. At the top, Belladonna’s name and her birth and death dates were carved into the wood. And below that, Dís realised, were carvings symbolising the events in her life. 

The hills at the bottom stood for her childhood in the Green Hill Country of Tuckburough. The upper half was decorated with symbols for her life with Bungo and Bilbo. And in the middle, thorny brambles with blackberries were carved around the words “love”, “adventure” and “happiness” written in dwarvish runes.

Almost disbelievingly, Dís ran her hand over the curving thorns. She stood in silence for a long time. Finally, she took a knife out of her belt. With a smooth movement, Dís cut off one of her braids and wound it around the carved blackberries. She fastened it with the silver clasp that matched the one she had given Belladonna so many years ago.

With one last look to commit the grave to her memory, Dís turned around and followed the path between the hills back to Hobbiton.


End file.
